


Law Unto Themselves

by MintChocolateLeaves



Series: Mint's Long-Fics [3]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-11-19 14:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintChocolateLeaves/pseuds/MintChocolateLeaves
Summary: There are many words people would use to describe Kudo Shinichi and his associates. Crow, is not one of them. And yet he’s still a figurehead in a mass organisation, wearing the colour black. [An AU in which people’s alignments are switched. The GB are members of the Black Org, and the BO members are police investigators.]





	1. Chapter 1

For every action there is a _reaction._

In the case of Masuyama Kenzo, a police investigator who’s been investigating an organisation swathed in black for the last ten years, the action is research. And the reaction – well…

He takes a deep breath – he’s too old to keep investigating like this, but well, it’s the job he’d been working on before retiring, and retirement itself had been a good cover to try and learn more information. At seventy-one, he feels almost like it’s too much to keep actively searching for more clues.

Working alongside the FBI has made things easier, even if it’s made it harder as well. He’s not sure he can keep sneaking into bars any more under the premise that he’s meeting an old friend. His bones are too frail for that, and maybe he’s retained a higher level of fitness compared to other men his age but, _well,_ he’s still not as young as he used to be.

“I’m going in,” Masuyama says, forcing himself forward as he glances at a warehouse through a pair of binoculars. He’s spent days trying to get information on one of the _Organisation’s_ smuggling operations, and he’s not sure whether it’s the trade of drugs or weaponry, but either one is going to bear fruits if the police can narrow in on them.

He doesn’t know who he’s talking to – there’s no one around, and he’s not expecting any urgent calls. He’s waiting for a call, although his phone’s on silent and he knows that he’s probably not going to answer. He’s promised to phone the head of their unit if he finds anything concrete, but Masuyama hopes that he doesn’t. All of this talk about conspiracies within Japan…

Sometimes he doesn’t want to believe that there’s another organisation pulling the strings. If they can get proof that it’s just the Yakuza causing an influx in crimes across Japan… but well… It’s not just Japan. According to the information he and the FBI have put together, this organisation is transnational.

“Okay,” Masuyama says to himself, and steps down from the metal staircase he’d been leaning on, onto gravel and pavement. The pier is dark tonight, the moon hidden, unable to illuminate anything. All that lights the sky are stars, some of them dead but still shining, the others alive yet dull.

It’s the perfect night for illegal happenings. There is little light; The evening air is crisp enough that every sound echoes, drifting towards the ears of anyone standing near the sea. Sometimes a light shines from a passing car, illuminating the space between Masuyama and the warehouse he’s heading towards.

They’ve planned for this, Masuyama knows they have. Those he’s tracking, well, he’d be stupid to think no one would try to listen in on their dealings, they’ve not become so hidden, so _prosperous,_ without being cautious.

He creeps forwards, pushes himself nearer until he’s certain that he’s going to be able to make it to the warehouse without light illuminating his path. Each step he takes is composed, and he’s glad that he’s worn the shoes with rubber soles and not the steel toe-caps he’d thought of putting on this morning when he’d left the house.

Only years of police work keep his footsteps from echoing in the night.

He makes it to the back of the warehouse without being seen, and Masuyama rubs at his moustache, attempts to think of the best course of action to take now. There are steps around the back, metal, but it shouldn’t be too much work to climb up them and convince those inside that any creaking sounds have been caused by the wind.

From there, he’s sure he’ll be able to climb in through one of the broken windows, scoot across to a spot where he can hide. And then, if he’s lucky, he’ll be able to film the deal going on without anyone noticing him.

Masuyama isn’t stupid. He knows what the chances are. But… well, he’s been working this case for years now, and frankly, he just wants it to be over. If that means taking a few risks… well, it’s not like he’s going to be missing out on decades worth of life. He’s already lived – sometimes he thinks he’s running off of fumes.

He decides to climb the stairs. They complain under his feet, quietly, as if they too, know what’s at stake, and Masuyama bites his tongue to keep from cursing the stupid metal as he reaches the first window. It’s not broken, and a quick tug against the window shows that it’s locked.

The second window is locked as well – as is the third.

It’s impossible to suppress the sigh of relief that rises from his throat when the final window is unlocked. Well… it’s not unlocked, _per se,_ but it has been broken, shards of shattered glass remaining on the sill. He leans forward, glad that he’s worn gloves, and pulls himself forward, trying not to wince in pain when glass digs through the material into his skin. Luckily, it’s only a single shard, and he pulls it out as his feet crunch against glass.

Masuyama crouches down, crawls towards the side of the balcony and takes a moment to simply listen.

“The amount of trouble you’ve caused me in these past few days…” The voice is familiar, one that Masuyama recognises, and he’s not sure _where_ he’s heard it exactly, but it’s a lot colder than he remembers. Chilling, almost emotionless.

He shuffles forward a bit more, notices the faintest crack in the balcony and leans forward to look through it. He bites his tongue again, pressing his face against the wall so that he can see the largely lit room below. There’s a van inside – painted black, the number plate one that Masuyama has seen show up on that of a missing motorbike.

The van isn’t the important part, Masuyama tells himself, and tears his attention away, gazing at the people milling about instead. It’s difficult to see faces, three men are facing away from him, and he’s fairly certain it’s one of them who’ve spoken.

There are three others, standing opposite, appearing as if they’re from overseas. They’re slightly tanned, southern European at a guess, although he supposes they could be from Northern America. It’s not like they’re the ones who’re speaking.

Others move around from behind them, moving small crates from between the six _higher-ups,_ hauling them towards the van and heaving them into the back. If Masuyama can count correctly, then there are at least eight crates, plywood sheathed, with pallet-like bottoms, and he’s certain that they’re at least a metre long, with a depth of at least half a metre.

Guns then, he concludes. In his experience as a police officer, drugs have always been transported in smaller crates. It’s easier to hide them in groups of cargo containers, because if there are more crates, then it’s harder for police to check every single one.

“I think that it’d be in your interest,” the voice from before continues, and it is callous, heartless enough to force a shiver down Masuyama’s spine. “if this thing finishes here, now, today, you understand?”

Below, the foreigners give sharp nods, looking almost fearful. Not that Masuyama can blame them, simply hearing the voice sends shivers down his spine, he can hardly imagine the face that it belongs to.

“Sir…?”

“I want the three of you on the next flight out of Japan.” The voice says, and it really is recognisable, Masuyama just doesn’t know from where. And then, a small piece of the puzzle clicks into place: He’s heard that voice when he’s been inside the police station.

Does this mean… No…

He reaches into his pocket, for his phone, but freezes when he feels a presence behind him. Seconds before, he’d not heard anyone moving, hadn’t felt even the slightest shift in the air. Now he feels it, feels the breath on his neck as he closes his eyes.

“What’s this,” comes a masculine voice from behind him, playful, filled with a mutated form of cheer. “we’ve got a ghost in the rafters?”

Masuyama opens his eyes, turns to face the man. He doesn’t have the time to focus on his face in the dark however, because within an instant, there’s a blunt force thwacking against his skull, knocking him unconscious.

He slumps forward, and doesn’t have the time to wonder whether he will wake up again.

* * *

Somehow, he does.

He opens his eyes and he’s laying face down against concrete. All he can see are shoes, some shined, the others dull and caked with mud. His brain pounds against his skull, but somehow Masuyama is still alive.

He’s not sure whether this is a good thing. If he’s alive, they can extract information from him, torture him in ways he can’t quite fathom.

And then two shoes step forwards – the shinier ones, more classy, one of the higher-ups, Masuyama assumes – each step loud, echoing within the warehouse.

“You’ve woken up,” comes the voice from before, and it sounds only the slightest bit annoyed. Masuyama doesn’t move, decides to try and play at being unconscious. “Oh please, you don’t think I’d fall for that do you? Time to look up.”

Masuyama does. And his eyes widen at what he sees.

“Oh yes,” Kudo Shinichi says, and his eyes are as cold as ice, his gaze almost staring through him. How hadn’t he recognised that voice before? “That’s the expression I so wanted to see.”

There is a moment where all of Masuyama’s thoughts fail him, and he’s not sure whether he knows how to breathe, not really. Instead, he stares across, trying to school his expression into one of calm. Trying to act as if he’d known, at least _suspected._

(He hadn’t.)

He tears his gaze past Kudo. Behind him are three men – one he doesn’t recognise, probably just a random worker who offers protection during deals. The second, looks scarcely similar to Kudo himself, except, with messier hair. Where the others are wearing suits, he wears a shirt, and a black jacket, looking almost informal compared to the others.

And the third: Hattori Heiji. Kudo’s partner in the Tokyo metropolitan police department, the two of them some of the best homicide detective’s he’s ever met. He hadn’t thought that their _best detectives_ would be… members of an organisation.

His stomach churns.

“You were rather quiet,” Kudo continues, and he crouches down in front of Masuyama, looking the part of intimidating organisation member purely because of his _frown_. “You know, when you were hiding up there? Kind of like a ghost up there, weren’t you?”

Masuyama swallows, nervousness sweating out from his pores. He doesn’t say anything.

Kudo continues, “you see, we’ve got our own phantom who watches over the warehouse. Aren’t we lucky that he managed to notice you on your way in?”

Letting out a shuddering breath, Masuyama pushes himself up, stares across at the man, having bitten into his tongue. His eyes flicker to the man who looks a lot like Kudo, and he notices almost faintly that there’s blood on the butt of the gun he’s holding in his hands.

 _His blood_.

“You’re one of them.” Masuyama says. He sounds dejected, almost as if this shock overrides any other emotions he could feel on the matter. “I can’t believe you two are…”

He trails off when he feels the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. It’s loud enough that the others notice it too, and Kudo leans forward, slides his hand into Masuyama’s jacket pocket to retrieve the phone that’s inside. Masuyama doesn’t move an inch – how can he when everyone seems to be armed but him?

“Oh, you seem popular,” Kudo says, as he glances down at the phone. He reads the caller ID, nods to himself. “Ah, it’s Gin.”

_Gin?_

Kudo glances back at him, and for a moment, he looks almost disappointed that Masuyama doesn’t understand what he’s talking about. He lets out a sigh, shakes his head. “All you investigators, you’ve got _nicknames_ , don’t you see?”

Masuyama bites his tongue, tries not to ask why exactly Gin’s is… Gin.

“Like you, you’re Pisco. Gin’s stupid helper, that’s Vodka.” He pauses, looks down at the phone again, turns back to Masuyama with an almost… bored expression. An alcohol theme… Pisco almost wants to ask why, but it seems a stupid thing to ask.

Kudo beckons his look-alike closer, and the man takes several steps, one after another until he’s standing just beside the other man. His gun is cocked, and he points it directly at Masuyama.

After another second, Kudo answers the phone. His fingers click against the volume until it’s loud enough for everyone to hear Gin’s voice on the other side of the phone, without them having to press answer-phone.

“Masuyama. I need you to give me that disc you promised me–”

For a moment, no one talks. And then, Masuyama watches as Kudo’s lips lift into the smallest smirk, alive, but not fully. There is something frozen there, the dark expression of a killer, of someone not afraid to harm others for his own personal gain. Kudo sends a sharp nod towards his look-alike.

Into the phone he says, “if you want your friend to hear you, you’ll have to talk a lot louder than that.”

Then, there is a flash. And a bang as a bullet leaves the chamber.

Masuyama Kenzo – Pisco – slumps to the ground, dead. Blood oozes from his skull, a deep, thick red that pools around his head as his forehead crashes against the pavement.

Kudo Shinichi hangs the phone up without another word. He glances towards Hattori Heiji, points back at the newly-formed corpse and takes a step towards the exit to the warehouse, not even bothering to watch the body drop. “Get a cleaning crew for that, won’t you?”

In the end – every action has a _reaction_.

And there’s no reaction, quite like a _Kudo_ reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author very much so enjoys comments.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Shinichi is a good businessman.

The art of good business, is being a good middleman.

It’s bringing people together, talking them into deals they would have never thought to accept before sitting down on the other side of the table. It’s manipulating a situation until there’s no doubt that it’s beneficial to the leader, it’s being a good _talker._

Above all else, that’s what Kudo Shinichi is: a good middleman.

According to his many… _associates…_ he’s the best in the business. He’s got the temperament for it – he’s calm when he’s forced to stare down the barrel of a gun, is apathetic at the sight of dead bodies. He doesn’t enjoy it, not the way some of his other members do. His eyes don’t reflect the flash of muzzle shots, but they don’t contain disgust either.

He’s sat in the back of a car, waiting for Hattori to climb in beside him, as soon as he’s finished his phone call to the correct _authorities._ For a police officer – soon to be police inspector, Shinichi believes – he’s quite good at ignoring the rules.

Despite his best interests, Shinichi’s fond of the Osakan, has come to think of him as his best friend. It’s amusing, seeing as business like this isn’t focused around friendships, just _results_ , but well – he’s known Hattori since he was a teenager playing at being a detective.

The door opens, and Hattori Heiji slumps into the seat beside him, nodding towards the driver in the front, an indication for him to drive. Shinichi thinks it’s horribly cliched, sitting in the back when he’d much rather be driving, but well, if any cameras pick the car up at the scene, he doesn’t want anyone to zoom in and see his face driving.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Shinichi says, as the car rolls into motion, rejoining the main road. He glances over his friend, watches as the man runs a hand through his hair – Hattori’s been tired recently, he’s almost in half the mind to give the Osakan time off from all of the illegal operations they have to oversee.

“Expectin’ what?” Hattori asks, and he rubs the tiredness from his eyes, smothering a yawn. He’d been alert inside the warehouse, has practically had it ingrained into him not to let a single fact go out of his notice, but now that they’re sat in the car he’s lowered his guard.

Shinichi would scold him for it, if he didn’t have trust in Hattori’s ability to flip the switch between alert and off-guard at any time. Or maybe it’s his fondness that keeps him from treating Hattori like his other underlings, because if it was anyone else letting their guard down for even a second, he’d call them out on it…

“Pisco,” Shinichi says, turning to look out of the window. He leans his cheek against the palm of his hand as he stares out at street lamps, the lights burning against his eyes. They’ll be dropped around the back of the police station, in the CCTV cameras’ blind spots, where they’ll then make their way back inside and down to the car park in the basement floor.

Hattori hums, and while he’s not openly saying anything about it, Shinichi knows that he’s going to spend time thinking about it. Hattori’s always been like that, he knows, has been quiet when it comes to thinking about the darker elements of their _job_ and maybe there had been a time when the motion had seemed suspicious, but not any more.

“It was weird tha’ an old man like tha’ was able to sneak inside…” Hattori says, after a while, and Shinichi resists a small smile. His lips curl upwards anyway, and he tries to smother it, but ultimately, he fails. Each trip to warehouses, removing the lids from weapons, is the same – none of it ever changes.

Pisco’s appearance… well, while it hadn’t got his blood pumping, while he’d still been as collected as ever, it _had_ been a little interesting. It’s not often that Shinichi’s work provides him with something out of his expectations, something that doesn’t fit within the carefully orchestrated plan he’s thrown together, chess pieces set awaiting checkmate, but sometimes…

“It is interesting,” Shinichi says, drumming his other hand against his knee. “I wasn’t aware that he was actively seeking us out.”

Hattori hums again, and he pulls out his mobile from his jacket pocket. Unlike Shinichi, who has two – one for _‘work’_ and the other for his personal life – he’s only got the one. Not that it really matters, he doesn’t need to hide any phone numbers, not when he’s constantly working by Shinichi’s side. The light from the screen illuminates his skin as he unlocks the phone. From the way his shoulders relax, uncoiling from the previous tension, it’s obvious that the text is from his fiancée, Toyama Kazuha.

“We should probably look into him,” Shinichi continues, although his words are fairly empty. They’ve been looking into Pisco for years, but just hadn’t found it necessary to kill him from what he’d known. Maybe they should’ve, maybe Shinichi has been too lenient because he hadn’t thought that Pisco was any closer to moving in on them.

“You want me ta get a guy inside his house to get th’ disk Gin was talkin’ 'bout?” Hattori asks, turning. The sound of him shifting forces Shinichi to glance over at him as well, offering his 'friendliest smile’. When he’s not wearing the mask of neighbourhood police investigator, his expressions always come off as distant, faraway.

“Kuroba’s already on it,” Shinichi says, and he ignores the way Hattori’s nose scrunches at the mention, forces himself not to chastise him on a conversation they’ve had several times before, “we’re done for the night.”

Hattori nods, glances back down to his phone and smiles. Shinichi feels almost tempted to ask, but there are some things he can’t ask when they’re in the company of other organisation members. Not when they already talk about favouritism – God, if Shinichi even hears rumours about playing favourites again, he might just shoot someone.

“Good,” Hattori says, “and the weapons, they’re headin’ to Osaka?”

The expression he receives is nothing short of chilling. Hattori’s expression shifts from its usual calm, to sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. He says, “it’s just my father’s runnin’ a new system on random searches comin’ off th’ Daini Hanna toll road, Otaki-han told me when he phoned earlier.”

Shinichi’s lips form a tight line as he turns away. For a moment he has to smother the hot resentment that twists inside his lungs at the mention of Hattori’s father.

Hattori Heizo – Shinichi grits his teeth at the thought of the man. When it comes to making sure his transactions with Osakan gangs run smoothly, the superintendent always makes things difficult on Shinichi’s end.

First it had been with the placing of undercover police by the pier. Then it had escalated to searches of vehicles in which Shinichi had been forced to _persuade_ three of his men not to tell the police anything when they’d received prison sentences.

All terribly frustrating. And now he’s creating another policy that Shinichi’s going to have to counteract. If it wasn’t so fucking aggravating, Shinichi would thank the man for giving him something to actually _think about_. It’s about as interesting as his job seems to get these days.

( _There is a lot Shinichi would do for his job to stop being boring. Criminal activity is about as listless as paperwork when you do it enough. There’s no noticeable thrill to it any more, no adrenaline – he’s too desensitised to weapon and drug trades.)_

“You could have said before we sent them off,” Shinichi sighs as the car stops outside the station. “Send me what you know, and I’ll talk to the driver about it on my way home.”

He steps out of the car, smooths the creases from his suit and suppresses the urge to slam the door behind him. So maybe he’s a little angrier than he’d have expected, but he’d spent his shift collecting _statements_ instead of solving murders, and then he’d had to attend an arms trade with complete, utter, _morons._ And now, _now,_ the entire deal might be for naught.

Hattori trails after him as they make their way across the street, falling into step beside him as they stride toward the precinct car park. He’s quiet for a moment, and then, the Osakan opens his mouth, and attempt to explain, “listen I-”

Shinichi turns to him, raises a hand and stops him before he can start. “No, you listen Hattori. You’re one of my closest friends, but if you forgetting to tell me about your father costs me 7 million yen, I will have to use you to send a fucking message to everyone else. You understand?”

Hattori doesn’t even falter in his walk, keeps moving as if he’d known. Maybe he does know, maybe that’s why he’s so calm whenever Shinichi has to be stern, act like a boss rather than a friend.

“I get it,” Hattori says, when they start down the ramp. “But if you do, just don’t make it too noticeable, I don’t want Kazuha or Chi to notice.”

Shinichi pauses, supposes that it sounds fair enough and offers a nod. He wouldn’t want any of his fellow police officers to notice anyway, so it’s not like he can really _afford_ to make any injuries noticeable. Plus – the idea of Hattori having to return home to his _family_ and lie about how he’d been injured…

Kazuha, well – she’d understand. Hattori’s a police officer, it’d be unrealistic not to expect him to come home completely unbloodied all the time. But their daughter…

He hopes it doesn’t show in his expression how uneasy the idea leaves him.

“If you send me the information, then we won’t even need to worry about the locality of your wounds now will we,” Shinichi says, crossing his arms over his chest. They split off from one another when they reach the middle of the car park, heading towards their separate cars. “If you want to make things up to me either way though, you’ll present me with coffee in the morning.”

* * *

The drive home takes longer than he’d expected.

He hits traffic when he’s halfway, and his usual ten minute drive home is almost doubled. Five minutes of his time is stuck on the phone explaining countermeasures to the idiots driving the weapons into Osaka, and Shinichi’s pretty certain that they’ve got a higher chance of getting the firearms into the city unnoticed.

The other fifteen minutes is spent wondering how exactly he’s going to deal with the next shipment he’s going to oversee. He considers calling one of his better associates to formulate a plan, but since the shipment doesn’t arrive for another nine days, he decides he can play it by ear until later.

“Ugh,” Shinichi says, as he’s forced – _again –_ to stop at a traffic light that’s turned red. He retrieves his phone from the dashboard, unlocking it and pressing onto his contacts. Then, he scrolls down, eyes searching for a name. It doesn’t take long.

Shinichi presses call, places his phone back on the dashboard, and he waits for the call to connect.

The phone rings four times before he gets an answer.

“Did you know,” comes the voice from the other side of his phone, “that most employers leave their workers to do their job, instead of checking in on them every few minutes?”

He clicks his tongue, the sound echoing through his speakers. From anyone else, Shinichi wouldn’t take the disrespect, but with the skill set Kuroba Kaito brings to their team, it’s almost comes hand-in-hand.

“I realised I hadn’t guessed today,” Shinichi says after a moment, as if he hasn’t been itching to know what’s on the disc Gin had asked after. He can hear the rustling of leaves as Kuroba pushes through a hedge, the sound of branches scraping against the side of his phone. “You know, about why you decided to become a member of this organisation?”

Kuroba lets out a short laugh on the other side. It’s quiet, but it echoes through the speaker. He says, “I already told you why. It’s not my fault you don’t believe me.”

Shinichi pulls away from the lights, moves the car into gear and groans. He says, “you think I’d believe you joined just because of a _gemstone?_ ”

There is a tittering sound from the other side of the phone. Like laughter, but not quite – it’s too mocking to be laughter. It’s something else, a malformed version of amusement that seems almost akin to a snicker, malevolent but not _cruel_.

“Not just any gemstone. _The gemstone.”_ Kuroba says, and Shinichi bites into his tongue. “Do you really need to ask questions about my motives right now?”

Shinichi flicks his left indicator on, sighs. “I suppose not. How far are you from Pisco’s place?”

“About ten metres from his window.”

It’s probably best not to overthink the fact that he’d never given Kuroba the address belonging to Pisco. It’s one of the good things about the man; he’s efficient. He works tricks that take time to unravel, and there’s nothing impossible that he can’t put into practise – _well, within reason of course._

“Burn the building down after you’re done.” Shinichi says, “mechanical failure of one of the plug sockets or something. Faulty electric lead.”

He can practically see the grin from the trickster. Kuroba says, “is it my _birthday?_ ”

Shinichi rolls his eyes. Turns right into his driveway. Through the light of one of his windows, he can see Ran, moving around in the kitchen – making tea, he realises, as she waits up for him.

“Just get it done.” He says, ignoring the light cackle that bursts from the other man’s throat. “When you find the disc, mail the contents to me.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” Kuroba says, hanging up before Shinichi can say anything else.

Pocketing his phone, Shinichi unbuckles his seatbelt. Leans his arm down to unlatch the door. There’s an almost uncertain feeling blooming in him, as he wonders what exactly is on the files, and how much Pisco had known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author very much so enjoys comments.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaito searches Pisco's home for the aforementioned disc.

They say only sociopaths and stupid people want to live forever.

_And Kuroba Kaito is not stupid._

He’d not been lying when he’d said he was looking for a gem. It’s not his fault that people don’t know about the legend of Pandora, don’t want to look into myths and fairy tales for some distortion of the truth, about gemstones that cry tears of immortality. Sometimes, when he cannot sleep, because he is too focused on tracking the gemstone down, Kaito wonders whether they’ll taste salty, like real tears.

He pockets his phone, thoughts of Kudo Shinichi lingering in his head. Every day he guesses, wonders what exactly Kaito’s motivations are. And ever day he is forced to repeat himself, to tell him he is looking for a jewel, and bite his tongue from snapping completely and asking why he doesn’t just read the files Snake and his cronies had submitted before their  _‘untimely deaths’._

Kaito shakes the thought away, forces himself to remain straight-faced and professional, and reaches into his pocket for his lock picks. He keeps them in his car, hidden under the passenger seat – easily accessible but still an efficient hiding place. Sometimes the best hiding places are the simplest.

“Okay,” he says to himself, barely a whisper as he pulls out two picks. He’s going in through Pisco’s back door, and just from looking at the lock, it’s easy enough to know that there are at least four pins that he needs to unlock. He suppresses a sigh as he identifies the lock as a wafer lock.

Pulling the torsion wrench from his set, he pushes it into the bottom of the lock, ready to keep all of the pins in places when he unlocks them. He almost wishes that he’d gone around to the front door – it’s an older lock, and easier door to open, but there had been a CCTV camera watching over, and there’s a light shining outside the door, a motion sensor.

Sometimes, technology is frustrating, despite all of it’s practical uses. Or rather; it’s irritating when Kaito has to go out of his way to bypass it, simply to break into a  _house._

If it was a heist location – something a bit more challenging – then it’d be more fun. A little amusing, but not an inconvenience. Pushing pins up within the lock and shaking his head, Kaito realises that’s what this is: an inconvenience. He’d planned on making copies of the blueprints for the Tokyo Sky-tree tonight, but a phone call from Kudo had dragged him to the gun trade, and afterwards, involved sending him on some useless mission.

The door unlocks with a faint click, and Kaito pulls the handle down, shimmying in through the back door and across the threshold into the kitchen. It’s a cluttered space, with pans and plates left on the drying rack. Pisco enjoyed cooking then, odd, seeing as Kaito had imagined him being the type of man who ate meals over the sink, always busy.

A part of Kaito wants to put the dishes away, just because Pisco never will again. Instead, he leaves the kitchen behind, climbing the stairs for some resemblance of a study. He grabs a small torch from his pocket – the beam isn’t bright, but it’s enough to see more details inside the room. Next time, he thinks, he’ll actually bring some night-vision goggles so that he doesn’t need any light… They’ll fit in the glove compartment, he thinks, and as long as he makes sure Aoko doesn’t take the car for work…

“If I were an eighty-year-old dead guy,” Kaito whispers to himself, “where would I keep a hidden file?”

He’s kept it on a disc, which is always harder to find than a paper trail, but he’s pretty sure that given enough time, he’ll find it. Provided that no one comes calling on Pisco tonight, Kaito’s certain that he’ll find the disc in no time.

The study isn’t tidy. It’s organised chaos, with books spread across the floor, files piled up against the wall. There are pictures spreading the wall – many from murder scenes, some from crimes Kaito’s committed himself. He’s not sure whether to be uneasy about the interest into the shows he’s put on, or proud.

He chooses proud, because pride feels much better than nervousness.

Pulling his phone out, he turns his settings onto flash, capturing the wall on his screen. It’d be stupid not to take pictures, even if he’s here for something else. Kudo doesn’t raise his voice much, (not that Kaito really cares when he does, it’s almost laughable watching the usually controlled man become slightly irrational), but he definitely would if he realised Kaito came back with only half of the information.

And then, he decides to search. He searches the man’s laptop first – sometimes people’s sense of security leads them to leave things in the simplest of places, and sits in Pisco’s chair, skimming over files he’s saved just in case there are copies on his laptop.  _There aren’t._

There’s no disc either.

It’s not surprising. The clutter of the room is a pretty obvious indicator that Pisco had relied more on paper evidence. That’s why he’s got a board of evidence, is why he’s so messy – people who use computers wouldn’t have as many police files lying around.

Wait… Is it even legal to bring police files from a police station? What a  _bad man. A_ nd here Kaito had thought Pisco would have been on his high horse, trying to play  _morality –_ but isn’t he technically as bad as Kaito is? He’s broken the rules, and frankly, breaking one always leads to breaking more.

“I wonder…” Kaito mutters, reaching forward to check the desk drawers. “If Pisco ever killed anyone?”

The man had been a cop before retirement, and well… it’s very easy, Kaito finds, to pull the trigger when the urge grows too much to handle. And Pisco would have even been able to blame it on police work, turning  _murder_ into  _self-defence_.

Sometimes, Kaito thinks that he’d make a  _brilliant_ police officer.

But all the paperwork… How all his detectives can deal with boring office work is bewildering. Or maybe it’s worrying? Someday, he’ll book them in for a psychiatric test, because they  _clearly need one._

“Not in here.” Kaito sighs after a second, jumps up from the desk and makes his way over to the bookshelf. He’s still using his phone as a torch, and skims over the titles of books trying to find anything that stands out. Most are books on criminal psychology and other things relating to police work. Boring things, truly, except maybe one of the… yes, there’s one that looks more interesting compared to the others.

A cook book.

There had been a few downstairs in the kitchen, but only one in the study – Kaito reaches forward and pulls it out. As he opens the book, flipping through the pages, a single disc drops from between the paper. It makes some sort of noise as it lands on the carpet – not quite a thud, but not a clatter either. It’s a muffled sound, and while it doesn’t  _ring,_ it certainly carries through the room.

Kaito scoops the disc up.

Since Kudo wants the files  _ASAP,_ he circles around Pisco’s desk, rebooting the computer and placing the disc into the drive. The machine whirs – old technology,  _seriously,_ who even uses computers when laptops are so much better? - and Kaito taps his foot against the carpet as he waits.

He checks his watch – 1 a.m.

It’s late. Aoko will be wondering where he is; there’s only so much blame he can put on marking student’s coursework and preparing magic tricks for weekend shows. Even with all of the business he has with Kudo and the organisation, he’s usually home earlier than this.

Unless… Kaito glances at his phone next, when the computer continues to load it’s main functions, the loading bar only halfway loaded. There are two texts, both from his girlfriend and Kaito opens Aoko’s messages with the same euphoria he imagines a drug addict feels during the initial high.

_Will be home late, don’t wait up. Xx_

_Someone was late to the briefing AGAIN. If KID can show to his heists on time, our team should have the same courtesy. Hahaaha xx_

Kaito sends a quick text back, saying he’d been distracted with work for tomorrow’s class, but that he hopes she’ll be back home soon. It’s a lie – of course it’s a lie, but it’s not like he needs to work on an excuse if Aoko’s  _not home either._

The computer lets out a little ring, a signal that it’s fully loaded, and Kaito leans forward, double clicking with the mouse onto  _my documents._ Seconds pass, and Kaito drags the cursor over to 'External device’, and opens the disc.

It takes some time to load, and when it does, the computer flickers.

 _Insert Password._ The disc says.

Kaito pauses, tries to think of any words that’ll lead to the disc unlocking itself. It doesn’t feel like he’s taking too long, but after a minute of thinking, the computer blinks off, the screen going black.  _Safety measures,_ Kaito’s almost impressed.

He glances around the room – no sign of a password, no carefully placed post-it notes or words sketched into the desk. And he certainly doesn’t know enough about coding to hack into the disc without a password…

Kaito leans back in Pisco’s chair, lets out a sigh. There’s only one place he can go to get the disc hacked into without the password, only one place he  _trusts enough_ to deal with something this… is it important? He isn’t sure.

He checks his watch again, only three minutes have passed. It’s not like can even make an excuse that everything is closed, and that they’ll be asleep. A short sigh forces Kaito to push himself forward, a groan forces its way onto his lips and he makes his way back downstairs to the back door.

His car is two blocks across, and Kaito runs his hand through his hair as he makes his way back. It unlocks with a click of his car keys, and for a moment, Kaito has to suppress a yawn as he throws himself forward. To think – he’s going to have to wake up for work in four hours, and his night isn’t even over yet.

Coffee isn’t something Kaito tends to dabble with, but somehow he knows he’s going to have to fix himself one tomorrow. He’s already trying to figure out the water to milk ratio for a perfect drink, deciding how many sugars he’s going to have to put in to make it  _edible._

“ _Fucking Kudo,”_ Kaito says, slamming the door beside him. He pushes his keys into the ignition, the engine roaring into life. “The things I do…”

He sends a quick message as he’s preparing to pull away, the pictures he’s taken, and confirms that he’s got  _a disc,_ and that he’s working on breaking through any security measures to get inside. Then, throwing his phone onto the passenger seat, Kaito signals left onto the road, and makes his way down town, to Shinjuku.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author very much so enjoys comments.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akako receives a visit from KID and is given a request.

When it comes to information gathering and computer hacking, there’s only two people worth paying in Tokyo.

All the others will work if faced with intimidation tactics and blackmail, but Koizumi Akako and her partner… well, they only work when there’s money involved. Maybe they can’t be intimidated because they’re also information brokers, but there’s never been an instance where they’ve been forced to work without pay or to give up secrets unwillingly.

So, as soon as KID comes through into the bar she runs – WitchCraft – Akako has to swallow the words  _‘wallet out first’,_ each word slithering back down her throat like ink. It’s tasteless, almost disgusting, but they’ve got a certain… clause to their business that makes KID’s situation different to the others.

Instead of saying anything, Akako pours him a drink – nothing alcoholic, he’s driving and needs to get home to Aoko-chan soon – dropping two ice cubes into the glass and splashing lemonade onto the bar. Bubbles burn against her hand, but it’s not painful, not the way hellfire and acid are, so she doesn’t think twice about it.

KID drops into a stool as she pushes the glass over, offers her one of his most  _charming grins,_ (which means that not only does he want something, he wants it  _quickly),_ and sips at his lemonade without breaking eye contact. Akako almost wants to snatch the glass back, and throw it at his smug face.

She doesn’t.

“Can I get an ice cream?” He asks, and Akako’s eyelid twitches. She’s surprised she’s not throttled him yet – and then she reminds herself:  _the clause._  A mutual decision between her and her partner and for every moment she’s been glad it’s in place, she’s also wanted to redact it and burn the unwritten contract to ashes.

“We’re in a bar, Kaito-kun,” Akako says, and she’s glad they’ve reached a point where he doesn’t glare every time she uses his given name, it almost makes her feel giddy. “Does it look like we have fucking ice cream here?”

“Is that a no?”

Akako squints, “there’s some up in the office. If you want it that badly, you can go up yourself.” She pauses, eyes glancing towards the dance floor where a couple of foreigners are dancing a lot more promiscuously than she’d anticipated. She’ll have to cut them off soon, before they become complete  _messes._ “What are you really here for?”

“I have a disc, but it’s encrypted. I need you to unlock it.”

Akako shrugs her shoulders. All of the equipment is up in the offices, and since she’s waiting for one of her bartenders to come back from their break she can’t exactly leave their newbie by himself yet.

“How soon do you need it?” She says, which is as close to a  _'yes, I’ll do it’_ as she’ll ever come to saying. If she can get to the computers then she can start – but well, she doesn’t think that KID knows enough about hacking to understand that things like this actually do take  _time._ It’s not like she can just hard break an encryption, it’d take years if she goes about it that way…

“How does an hour sound?” KID asks, and this time Akako does lean forward, snatching the glass from his hand and pouring it away into the sink. She places it back on the counter, glares across at him. “I take it an hour is an insult?”

“Hacking isn’t as easy as typing a little bit of code and expecting everything to unravel,” Akako says, “but we’ll see what we can do.”

KID jerks around, and Akako smirks as she watches him search for her other half. It’s almost comical, and she has to suppress a laugh, mainly because KID’s always been a performer, and performers get antsy whenever their audience don’t respond the way they’d planned.

“If you’re looking for Saguru-kun,” Akako says, clicking her tongue, “he’s in the office. If you wait for one of my staff to get back, we’ll go up and bother him together.”

When he turns back, his lips are pressed into a thin line. He’s not Hakuba Saguru’s biggest fan, but he does respect him. There’s distaste there, at having to ask Saguru for help, and Akako almost revels in seeing the expression instead of a grin, purely because it’s  _real_ and it’s  _raw._

“Unless,” Akako raises an eyebrow, “you’d like to go up without me?”

A shake of his head. KID leans forward against the bar, pushes the glass back towards her and says, “as long as I’m not waiting too long. Aoko will worry.”

* * *

It takes fifteen minutes of waiting, but eventually her staff member does finish her break. It really shouldn’t be so long, Akako thinks, but one look at the break roster shows that her bartender is actually back ten minutes earlier than expected.

Akako shrugs it off with a half-hearted smile, sends KID a look for him to follow after he and makes her way over to his side of the bar. Then, she throws off the slight apron she’s wearing, folding it over her arm. It’s a fluid movement, as she walks, shadowed by the thief.

“I’ve still got some things I need to do as well,” Akako says, as KID falls into step beside her, the two of them making their way to the back, where the offices are situated, “but I’ll offer whatever help I can while you explain. We do need to check our books before we close tonight though, so that’s my priority.”

“It must be a pain running this place,” KID says after a moment, which… Isn’t exactly false. It’s not true either, not by a long shot, and Akako saves the response that she actually enjoys running a business, half because she knows he doesn’t care, the other half because it’s something she wants to keep secret.

Instead, she hums – a sound that’s not quite a confirmation, but not disapproval either.

“I’m glad you’re here tonight though,” KID continues after a moment, as if her silence isn’t a request for him to quit talking. Akako doesn’t know whether she loves him or hates him; The emotions twist and mix into one another. “I’m not dressed for the casino.”

“You know that the casino is Saguru’s domain,” Akako sighs.

“And yet,” KID says, “he’s here.”

This time, she can’t resist the smirk that rises to her face. Seriously – who does Kuroba think he’s dealing with? He’s visiting the best informants in Tokyo and he’s wondering why they’re both in the same place at once? There’s only one answer to that:

Him.

“We had a feeling you might visit soon,” Akako says, as she opens the door to the office. She offers another smirk, “we can tell the future you know, I’m a witch.”

She’s not but well… with the right amount of hallucinogens and alcohol mixing into the bar, she might as well be. And with the right sources,  _the right information,_  it’s not difficult to predict future events. It’s why she works well alongside Saguru – mixing logic and  _magic_ together leaves them both at the top of the metaphorical food chain in Tokyo.

“A witch, huh?” KID mutters, “sounds fitting.”

It’s difficult to decide whether she should be insulted or complimented. Shelving it away for later consideration, she steps inside the office, waiting until KID’s stepped inside to close the door behind him. It closes with a click, leaving them in a artificially lit room.

It’s not much different to a regular office: There are file cabinets in the far right corner, and a desk with paper stacked on the side. Work schedules are scattered around the middle of the desk, around the monitor and maybe Akako is a bit messy but she’s efficient.

“I thought it was about time for you to show up,” Saguru says, from where he’s searching through the cabinets. The cabinets all have files, information that they’ve printed out for clients who’ll be interested, but most of their information is kept on USB sticks that they wear on their person at all times. “Tea?”

Beside her KID tenses. The tension is palpable, easily sliced into and Akako leans forward to click on the kettle that Saguru has brought, for something to do.

“Tea would be nice,” She says, “I’ll make  _gyokuro,_ do you think that’ll be sweet enough for your taste, KID?”

She turns, and receives a nod. KID slumps forward, throwing himself down onto one of the couches in the middle of the room. There are two, positioned opposite one another with a coffee table between them. By the time she’s poured the tea for the three of them, Saguru has gathered a file from the cabinet, and has thrown it on the coffee table.

Akako doesn’t need to ask which it is.

KID scoops it up as she places the cups down onto the table, opens the file to the first page. He pauses, glances up at them both as Akako settles next to Saguru on the seat.

“What the hell is this?”

“Masuyama Kenzo’s phone records.” Saguru says, “all the calls he made from his mobile and house phone in the past three months. Who he called, and for how long. You should’ve interrogated him before shooting him, you know.”

“What does it matter who he spoke to?” KID grumbles, “all we need to worry about is what he knew. Not  _who_ knows what.”

Akako sighs, picks up her cup, blowing at steam to cool it down. She takes a sip of her drink, leans it on her knee as she says, “you’re usually so smart. I guess this is why you’re not an informant. Look at the second page, third from the bottom.”

KID turns the page, scowls at the paper. He looks up, “Why the hell would Pisco be phoning an American number…? I take it you guys have looked into it?”

“Naturally,” Saguru says, pulling his phone from his pocket. He unlocks it with his fingerprint, swipes at his screen to pull up a picture. He turns it to show KID, the photograph depicting a blonde American woman with glasses framing her face. “Starling Jodie. She’s an FBI agent working in Japan. Her official records say she’s working as an English teacher while taking a holiday from the force.”

“Let me guess,” KID says, glancing at the photograph, memorising the lines of her face, the crinkle between her brows, “the FBI records say differently.”

“Exactly,” Akako says, “that, mixed with the fact that she’s talking to Masuyama, means that you’ve got yet another organisation on your back.”

Reaching his hand into his jacket pocket, KID pulls out a disc. He passes it over to Akako, narrowing his eyes as she takes it. He says, “So they’ve obviously got something concrete to get the FBI involved then. We need to read into this disc then.”

“The disc that Gin was asking for?” Saguru asks, as Akako places her cup back onto the table, making her way over to her desk. Opening the disc drive, she places it inside, sitting down on the chair to glance at the monitor.

“How- You know what, I’m not gonna ask how you know. How long do you think it’ll take to get into that disc?”

Saguru stands too, bringing his tea with him, where he stands behind Akako, glancing at the monitor as she pulls up lines of code. It’d not taken either long to learn to read binary code, and sometimes looking at ones and zeros seems more natural than at letters.

“Anywhere between seconds,” Akako says, “and never. We’ll text you when we’ve unlocked it.”

KID crosses his arms, opens his mouth to speak but ultimately, says nothing.

“Anyway, don’t you need to burn down Masuyama’s house?” Saguru adds, “I thought Kudo gave you orders for it.”

“I couldn’t exactly burn the place down until I knew I had the right disc, could I?” KID sighs, shakes his head. “I guess I’ll just have to drive back now. If it’s not the real thing, you’ll get into it by the time I get to his house again, right?”

Once again, Akako wants to hit him for thinking hacking is as easy as that. Instead, they both nod – hacking is always easier when no one’s around trying to distract you – and tell him they’ll be in touch.

“Oh, and Kuroba?” Hakuba says, as KID stands, readying himself to leave. “Use the fact that Starling is a teacher to your advantage. There’s a teacher conference in a few weeks, involving both your school district and hers. Maybe it’d be beneficial to actually  _go to one_ for a change.”

“Make contact with a FBI agent, huh?” KID says, “I’ll sign up as soon as I know what’s on that disc. It’d be stupid to go in without knowing how far they’ve gotten.”

It’s not until he’s closed the door behind him, that Akako realises his tea has gone untouched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author very much so enjoys comments.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heiji has to wait to find out whether the guns en-route to Osaka made it.

They call him Kudo’s dog.

Not that Hattori Heiji really minds what others call him, especially when they’re just criminals awaiting prison time, but there’s an element of annoyance that just makes him want to lash out. Instead of being a right hand man, he’s likened to an animal, and frankly, Heiji doesn’t want to prove them right.

The only one person who’s opinion matters within the criminal underworld, is Kudo’s.

And after that, in the every day world, there’s only two additional opinions that hold any sway over him.

“ _Bam, bam!”_

Heiji turns, from where he’s leaning over the kitchen counter, pouring coffee into a mug. Kazuha’s leaning against the door frame, clad in her pyjamas, gaze directed on the small toddler that bursts into the room. She’s also wearing pyjamas – a onesie with multiple Disney princesses in the middle, each pulling various poses.

If he had to choose a favourite – and Heiji has, his daughter is a curious thing, constantly asking question after question now that she can talk – he’d have to choose Mulan. The princess is in the back, looking typically bad-ass and quietly waiting to fight if anyone needs her too. Heiji sympathises.

“Morning Chi,” Heiji says, glancing down at the girl. Her short brown hair is already tied back in pigtails, a routine she's loved doing each morning with Kazuha since they’d bought her white bows for her second birthday.

“ _Bam, bam!”_ Hattori Chiyo’s voice isn’t loud, but it travels. It’s shrill, excited, and she runs up to Heiji with her hands clasped together, her index and middle fingers stretched out in a pretend version of a gun. “Daddy’s gonna take down all th’ bad guys today!”

Heiji reaches down as she stops in front of her, to ruffle her hair. With his other hand, he picks up his coffee cup, sipping at the coffee to avoid commenting on bad guys and the fact that while he’s taking many down, he can’t exactly take them  _all_ down when he’s a part of them.

He hums his approval instead. It’s the closest thing to a lie he can give her. He may have to lie to Kazuha, sometimes, but he’d decided shortly after Chi was born that he’d never lie to her. At the time, he’d thought that would mean  _getting out,_ but now it means  _avoiding the subject._

Kazuha closes the kitchen door behind her. It’s seems almost lighter with the door closed, now that light isn’t being swallowed by the dark corridor between the staircase and the kitchen. It’s not usually dark, but they don’t tend to turn the light on during the early morning, relying instead on natural light from the rising sun.

“Tell Daddy where we’re goin’ today Chi,” Kazuha says, and she leans down, so she’s practically face to face with their daughter. Chi turns towards her, scrunches her nose as she attempts to think about the question.

After a few seconds, she shakes her head.

Kazuha smiles. Lifting her arms, she cuts them through the air, acting out the breast stroke. Chi claps her hands together, stars on her sleeves shooting towards one another from the sudden movement.

“Swimmin’!” The two-year-old turns, glances up at Heiji. She moves both hands to her hips, mimicking the times she’s seen Kazuha do the same, ordering Heiji to do something around the house. “Daddy’s comin’ too!”

Heiji raises an eyebrow. “Am I?”

He sips at his coffee and thinks about reasons why he can’t, rather than reasons why he could.

Firstly – he does actually need to function as an adult, and if Chi even wants to go swimming in the first place, he needs to earn the money to pay for the session.

Secondly – There are bruises down his back, from the previous night, when he’d had to intervene with a fight outside the gun deal. He doesn’t have a suitable explanation for that yet, meaning he needs to go to work to create one.

“Chi,” Kazuha says, and she leans forward to pick the toddler up, depositing her in her high chair. She leans forward to ensure she’s strapped in, before shaking her head. “We’re going swimming with Ran-chan today, not Daddy.”

They receive a pout. It would be cute, if it didn’t send a slither of guilt down Heiji’s spine. “I want to go swimmin’ with Daddy.”

Heiji gulps down his coffee. Swimming really  _is_ a bad idea, especially if he’s fucked up the deal because of his father, but almost wants to go despite it. He’s got a free weekend from work – well, Friday and Saturday off – and he’s pretty sure Kudo will understand if he asks for a break from their night-jobs for long enough to spend a weekend away.

“We’ll do something this weekend,” Heiji promises, making eye contact with Kazuha. He’s not sure what they’ll do yet, or if he’ll be able to take them out of Tokyo for a few days, but he’s got time at least. “Just the three of us, okay Chi?”

Chi grins. As she nods her head, she kicks out with her feet, giggling as she says,  _‘yay, play time with Daddy!’_

Heiji smiles back.

* * *

It takes him twenty minutes to drive to work.

Today, it takes him twenty-five, because he stops for coffee, ordering enough for both him and Kudo, before driving to the station. He’s five minutes early for his shift, which means he’s  _actually_ ten minutes late by his usual standards.

He’s hoping to pile through whatever paperwork is lying on his desk by midday, and while ten minutes isn’t exactly a lot of time to lose out on, he feels like his joints are tired enough that he needs them.

And with the impending case load of the task force soon to include Pisco… Heiji thinks he’s going to need all the extra time he can get if he’s going to lessen his case load before his days off. He wonders if he’s still got any Ritalin left in his desk, wonders if he’s worked his way through the prescription already.

He hopes he hasn’t, because he really needs full focus for work today.

Opening the door to his car, he shimmies out with two coffees in his hand. He rests them on his roof as he closes his door, locking the car up. He’s almost glad that he hears the footsteps coming up behind him, because else he’d jump at the sudden appearance of Sharon Vineyard beside him.

“Hattori-san,” She just seems to  _appear_ sometimes, and Heiji is glad he’s not jumped while holding coffee like last time. He turns to glance at her, tries not to show his surprise. “Good morning.”

She’s only been a inspector in division one for three years, which means Heiji’s got more experience with murders. However, she’s still his senior, mainly because she’d been working in Arson for years.

“Mornin’ Vineyard-san,” Heiji says in response, the two of them walking towards the basement entrance of the precinct.  He doesn’t really know what to say to the woman, she’s always been mysterious in a way that’s grown increasingly irritating.

“Did you hear about the fire?” She asks, raising an eyebrow when they reach the elevator. Division one is on the third floor, and three flights of stairs is too much effort at 7 a.m. “In Shimokitazawa. I was listening to it on the radio.”

“No,” Heiji shakes his head, although he vaguely recalls that Pisco had lived within that area, “I listen to my CDs in the car. Why, was it serious?”

Vineyard –  _Vermouth,_ as Kudo’s named her – nods her head. She says, “Apparently the house belonged to Masayuma-san. You remember him from when you started working here, right? The police are already linking it to arson because of his ties to the police.”

Heiji lets his eyes widen. It’s natural to feel surprised, although Heiji’s mostly alarmed by the sudden police intervention. He supposes, however, that it’s mainly Gin’s influence that has set the police on the right track, due to Kudo’s answering his call the night before.

“Was he inside?” He lets a certain element of horror fill his voice, mixing it was the familiar apathy police officers develop after working a magnitude of cases.

“He wasn’t,” Vermouth says, pressing the button for the third floor, the doors closing on them. She turns to him, her lips pursued. She’s not usually this talkative, especially not to  _him._ Heiji supposes when he sits down at his desk, he’ll have to think it over multiple times. “But no one can reach him either.”

Heiji decides that he needs to think his response over carefully. Quickly too, because Vermouth is quick, and as much as she can be mysterious, she’s also good at solving mysteries too.

“Do you think the arson team will need to consult us on this…?”

Us meaning Division one.

Vermouth nods her head, “I think so, yes.”

By the time the elevator doors open, letting them both out, Heiji feels like even a knife wouldn’t slice through the tension. It stagnates, neurons sending a message through his brain that everything with Pisco is only just beginning.

* * *

Kudo is sat at his desk when Heiji finally enters the division headquarters. They’re not a high enough rank to have their own office, so they both have desks opposite each other. It’s better than a cubicle, Heiji thinks, although he isn’t sure he likes the constant noise.

The other detective looks up when Heiji appears, letting a smile form on his face. It’s a genuine one, not one of his faked ones, and for a moment there is relief in his expression. Then, he spots the coffees in Heiji’s hands and he lets out a groan.

“Hattori you’re a life saver.”

Heiji passes him the coffee cup, before pulling his chair out from beneath the desk. It rolls – one of the tiny yet amusing element to his job is his wheeled chair – and Heiji almost collapses into his seat. He doesn’t though, wants to look professional as he waits for Kudo to tell him about the verdict on last nights deal.

“It’s just coffee,” Heiji says, and he turns his monitor on, preparing for work today. “It’s not big deal.”

“Coffee is a big deal,” Kudo replies automatically. They’ve had this conversation so many times that at this point it’s just part of their work routine. “I’m so  _tired_ it’s unreal.”

“Yer just not big on mornin’s,” Heiji responds, sipping at his own coffee as he waits for his computer to load. “You’ll feel better in a hour or two.”

He receives a grunt. Heiji decides to take that as an acceptance that he’s right about his not being a morning person. He’s much more of a night owl, which shows in the fact that they carry out their shady dealings during the middle of the night, like a walking cliché.

“I suppose you’re right,” Kudo says.

Heiji types his password into the computer, waits for his desktop to load. It doesn’t take long; For once, the server seems like it’s not going to have a cyber breakdown, is for once able to cope with the pressure of hundreds of logins at the beginning of the morning shift.

“I am.” Heiji says, and offers a small grin. Kudo raises an eyebrow, (exasperated maybe? But certainly not annoyed), before shaking his head. For a moment, the Osakan’s smile slips, and he takes a moment to pause.

He pulls up his emails, the sheer amount sitting in his inbox surprising him. They’re not all related to case work, some are email chains between detectives in other departments. Other’s from his acquaintances in Osaka.

The words seem to blur together, and he opens the second drawer in his desk. He fishes out the Ritalin easily – it’s on top of files and paperwork – unscrewing the lid. He washes two down with his coffee, before glancing back at his screen.

“Hattori,” Kudo’s says after a while, stealing his attention before he can even focus it on the first email. “Let’s get tempura for lunch today.”

Heiji grins. The deal must have gone well then, because whenever they go bad, Kudo doesn’t take his lunch break any further than the vending machine. He has to suppress the sigh of relief that spreads through him, nodding instead.

“Tempura sounds great. Same place as last time?”

Kudo nods.

Then, he tears his gaze back to his own computer, reminding Heiji that he needs to actually start his work as well. It seems easier now, mainly because he doesn’t need to worry about whether he’d lost Kudo millions of yen.

The first email opens a chain about gang activity in Shibuya. It’s an ongoing investigation – not one he’s working actively on, but he’s been looking over it in the hopes he can help the team in Shibuya – including youth crime and increasing criminal activity.

That’s what Heiji had thought this was to begin with. Youth crime. Nothing as big as the mess he’s caught up in now. This situation he’s slowly suffocating in, purely because he’d walked in on Kudo committing a crime and had been unwilling to report it.

Heiji supposes,  at the root of it all, that’s why people call him Kudo’s dog.

Crime isn’t something he enjoys. It isn’t something he revels in or profits from. It’s just an side effect that comes with being Kudo’s closest friend – he wonders if Kudo’s realised it. How couldn’t he? His… underlings have realised that the only reason he hasn’t thrown the organisation behind bars is his loyalty to Kudo Shinichi.

It’s why he’s determined to get Kudo out of this mess innocent and  _alive._

Hattori Heiji’s biggest flaw is his loyalty.

It’s why he’s the organisation’s  _dog_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author very much so enjoys comments.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaito receives the information on the disc he’d stolen from Pisco.

Kaito is in the middle of teaching his students about isotopes when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s on silent, and he leaves it – how can he expect his students not to text in class if he’s doing the same? – forcing himself to wait until he’s handed out worksheets.

He can’t help but wonder who it is.

Aoko giving him an update on her work schedule, telling him whether she’ll make it home for dinner tonight? Or something more interesting like Koizumi and Hakuba breaking into the disc he’d killed a man to receive.

…Or something more fun, much more _sinister._ An order from Kudo perhaps, requesting his help gathering information, or taking out those who’ve gotten too close. Maybe today is finally the day he shoots that grey-haired detective that Kudo always calls Gin…

Or maybe not.

Part of being KID, the disguises element, is knowing how a person thinks. He needs to be able to convincingly become another person, and so… that skill tells him that if anyone’s going to kill Gin, it’ll be Kudo himself.

 _Oh well,_ Kaito thinks, _I can live with that. There will be other alcohols to set alight._

Still – he is curious. And it’s that curiosity that forces him to start the worksheets a little sooner than he’d originally planned. It’s nothing major, not really, his student’s will just have to do a little extra searching in their workbooks for the answers.

And as soon as they’re working, eyes reading through the questions Kaito has prepared, he sits at his desk, turns on his monitor to check his emails, and pulls his phone from his pocket.

_Hakuba._

He is not sure whether to sigh, because he’s got another text message from _Hakuba Saguru_ of all people on his phone now, or whether to be excited. There is a disc filled with information ready for him to pick up, blackmail to be stored in his head.

The text message reads as:

_Akako has invited you and Aoko-kun to dinner. Hopefully the two of you will be able to make such an event._

Either there’s something on the disc that Hakuba wants to talk to him about, or there is some need to be discreet with handing the disc over. Either way, Kaito will have to be on his guard.

Another text buzzes on his phone. This time, it’s Aoko. Ordering him not to stay too late at work – _hypocrite –_ because they’ve been invited to dinner. He sends a response feigning curiosity, then another with hesitation, a wish to do anything but have dinner with _Hakuba._

Still, he accepts. Sends a message back to Hakuba with _‘Aoko has informed me I must come, no matter my own wishes.’_

It sounds the way he wants it to. Something he doesn’t want to take part in, but is being forced to attend by a particularly stubborn fiancée. It’s the perfect cover – a fiancée dragging her unwilling fiancé to dinner with old school friends.

* * *

He gets a text message from Kudo nearer the end of the evening, demanding an update on the disc. It’s a short text that goes to his KID phone, a burner that only has one contact in.

“Well, well,” Kaito mutters to himself, reading the words over and over, lips pulling upwards at the impatience from the other man. “Someone seems to be thrown off by this turn of events.”

He can’t fault Kudo for it. Part of being high up in such an empire means that there’s further to fall. And Kaito, stood on the outskirts, just a hire for such an organisation to use, he’s not the one who’ll fall.

“Well,” Kaito says to himself, after he’s parked outside the house he and Aoko share. “It’s nothing worth worrying himself over.”

Whatever may come from this disc, Kaito’s certain Kudo will find a way to deal with it. He sends a text in response, says that he’ll get the disc to him tomorrow.

Kudo might not think it’s good enough, but… oh well. Let the man be anxious, nervous about the lack of information at his fingertips – such a controlled individual needs to feel helpless every once in a while.

He pulls open the door, feels the wind crash against his arms before making his way towards the house. Aoko’s car is parked next to his, having beaten him home for what feels like the first time in forever.

Features softening at the entire idea of _Aoko_ and her presence, Kaito locks the car, making his way towards the entrance to his _humble abode._

The door is unlocked, another indicator that Aoko’s home. They’re paranoid enough of people getting inside – or rather, Aoko’s worried KID will steal away into their house one night to teach her a lesson on why she should drop the case – so it’s only ever open when the other is expected home within the following ten minutes.

His fiancée pokes her head into the hallway from the sitting room as Kaito makes his way indoors, bringing essays that require marking in with him. He’ll read over them later, once he’s home from work, marking each one until he’s certain Aoko’s fallen asleep for the night.

Then – he’ll have time to look over the disc Hakuba will give him. Maybe make a copy of his own, if Hakuba hasn’t already done it for him.

“You’re home!” Aoko says, offering him a smile as she offers a wave. Then, “you brought your marking home again…”

Kaito offers his most charming smile. “I would have marked them at work, but somebody needed me home earlier today.”

Aoko scrunches her nose. “Fine, fine. You win. Thanks for getting home to me so early.”

Sometimes, Kaito looks at her and remembers her as she was as a teenager. Speaking in illeisms, constantly in third person to mask her lack of confidence. She’s more confident now… Kaito likes to think it’s because of her presence on the KID task force.

Searching for a known assassin has made her braver. Made her face things she never would have if not for the case.

Kaito’s done that for her – it’s because of him she’s braver now.

“Anything for you,” Kaito says, entering the sitting room where Aoko stands, depositing the paperwork on the table. “Even if that anything does include forcing myself to sit through a meal with Hakuba.”

Aoko lets out a groan. It’s half amused, half irritated that he’s bringing it up again, for what probably seems like the hundredth time this month. She says, “why, I’m so lucky to have such a charming fiancé.”

Kaito offers her a wide smile. He says, “as long as you understand how lucky you are.”

She hits him on the shoulder. A playful tap that warns him to watch his ego. _Too late,_ Kaito thinks, his ego is already out of control, even he knows it. The fun part is trying to convince himself not to let anyone else realise.

“Okay, okay,” he says, lifting both hands up in mock surrender, “I give. I’m the lucky one, don’t arrest me.”

Aoko offers a smile. She says, “alright, just this once I won’t. Maybe if you get ready for this dinner, I’ll let you off next time as well.”

A get out of jail free card? If only it would be easily transferred over to his life as KID. That would be extremely effective, Kaito thinks to himself. Not that he’d ever need it.

“Of course,” Kaito says, pecking a kiss against her cheek, “anything to not be arrested.”

* * *

Later, after twenty minutes of small talk, sharing work stories they’ve not had time to share prior, Kaito parks his car in a side street, outside the house Hakuba shares with Koizumi.

It’s a lot smaller than Kaito would have expected from the two, especially after seeing the size of their family homes. Kaito isn’t sure though – either it’s a front that they’ve put on to fool people as to where they _really live_ or owning both a bar and a casino has punched a hole through their pockets that not even _their_ inheritance can afford.

Either way, despite the size, it’s a nice house.

“You ready for dinner?” Aoko asks, in a tone that implies she’s expecting Kaito to remain polite no matter whether he’s actually ready or not.

“Of course, I am,” Kaito responds, plucking up his keys and opening the door. It’s not going to take too much effort to get along with Hakuba, or Koizumi, despite the fact that he doesn’t really want to.

Well… He’ll be fine acting friendly with Koizumi. It’s more Hakuba he’s got his issues with. And yet even now, he knows that he’s going to have to go off with the other to receive the disc.

_Tsk._

As much as his curiosity is gnawing at his nervous system, sending chills and bringing speculation to his mind every moment, Kaito really doesn’t want to have such a conversation with Hakuba.

 _And_ he’s going to have to trust in the two that they won’t poison both him and Aoko with their food. Not that Akako would ever try to poison Aoko, not with the creepy obsession she seems to have in keeping the girl safe.

“Come on then,” Aoko says, dragging him indoors, as if he’s a dog on a leash. The idea of dogs reminds Kaito of Kudo and his own dog, the Osakan one who always gets on his nerves with every word he barks.

Oh well, Kaito thinks, smoothing his expression over and wishing the irritation away. There are no dogs here, he can remain perfectly calm for now.

“Of course,” Kaito says, a feeling of excitement rolling in his stomach, a dark energy coiling around his spine like a snake, “let’s get this evening started, shall we?”

* * *

Akako is the one to open the door.

Her gaze lands on Kaito for a second, before moving straight to Aoko. Like all the other times they’ve visited, Akako has only eyes for Aoko. It’s a weird thing, Kaito thinks, how much the witch seems to favour Aoko over everyone else he’s seen her interact with.

A fond smile pulls the woman’s lips up, as she invites them both in. She says, “Aoko-chan, it’s so nice to see you again.”

_Creepy._

Not that Kaito’s going to say anything about it while Aoko’s present. He’ll leave the scathing remarks he wants to speak for when he’s wearing his KID persona, for when they’re alone and he can warn Akako to back off from his fiancée.

“Oh, Kaito-kun, I suppose it’s okay to see you as well.”

Kaito offers his driest smile. He says, “It’s always a please to see that the townspeople haven’t melted you yet, Akako.”

Aoko punches him lightly in the arm. “Don’t be rude.”

“Yes Kuroba, I’d appreciate it if you were polite for the duration of dinner.”

It’s Hakuba. The bastard, and yet, Kaito bites his tongue and keeps himself from any scathing responses. He doesn’t want any passive aggressive responses from Hakuba when there’s information waiting to be transferred over to him.

“Fine,” Kaito tuts, shakes his head. “If she hasn’t melted yet, I suppose she won’t at all.”

“Right,” Hakuba responds, and there’s a gleam in his eye. Amusement, or fondness of his own, the same expression he’d worn years before when he’d gained his proof of Kaito being KID. “Well, let’s head inside. I’ve got a bottle of Bordeaux Aoko-san, it’s something to die for. Come, you’ll have to try it.”

* * *

Kaito forces himself through dinner, and later, as Aoko claims responsibility for helping Akako wash the dishes – _well, Kaito supposes filling the dishwasher counts for Aoko –_ he finds himself alone with Hakuba.

Never as situation he enjoys.

“So,” Hakuba says, as he leans back in his chair. “That disc. We managed to unlock it after noon.”

His expression goes dark for a moment, and he lifts his hand into his pocket, pulling out said disc, and handing it towards Kaito.

“What’s that expression for?” Kaito scowls, “don’t start thinking you can keep information away from me, not on this.”

Hakuba shakes his head. “I wouldn’t try to. Keeping information from you when you’ll just as easily gain the information from the disc?”

Kaito glances at it. On the paper are scribbled letters – roman alphabet, not kanji – the password to open the disc. Despite them telling Kaito it’d take time to gain the password, they’ve still unlocked it quicker than expected.

He picks the disc up, gingerly, and puts it into his coat pocket.

From the kitchen, he can hear Aoko’s bright laughter. Kaito imagines it wouldn’t be so bright if she were to realise all her trusted friends are criminals working against the very force in which she resides.

“What’s so bad about this disc then,” Kaito says, “for you to get such an expression on your face?”

Hakuba taps his fingers against the rim of his wine glass, swirls the liquid in the glass and takes a sip. He says, “there’s nothing about you per say, although there’s a profile about KID. Standard information, some minor links questioning if certain murders are you or the organisation.”

“That’s not what you’re worried about.” Kaito says. It’s not like Hakuba to beat around the bush, straying from the information at hand. Yet something has him ruffled – if only a tiny bit.

“They know that there’s someone with ties to the police working for the _organisation_ ,” Hakuba says. “The Osakan police commissioner, the _dog’s father,_ keeps changing his attempts to capture Kudo’s men when they’re sending goods up to Osaka. And yet they’re quite ineffective.”

Kaito takes a moment to try the information on his tongue. So, Kudo’s bodyguard will be part of the organisation’s downfall? Filtering information he’s no doubt received from his father, or other Osakan contacts.

“It’s not just him causing the problems,” Hakuba says, “it’s also the way the police protocols are being used against the police themselves. They can’t catch the organisation without using certain laws, and by the time those required laws are gathered, the organisation is long gone. It’s brought them around to thinking that there must be someone with astute knowledge of the law.”

Kaito nods his head. “Someone like a police official.”

“Exactly.”

Which would leave Hakuba feeling worried. Because if people are doing internalised checks of the police, it won’t just lead them to lower end members of the organisation, but rather to Kudo and his dog.

“Well, that’s certainly no good for Kudo and his followers.” Kaito tilts his head. “It makes me glad I just work with him, not as a subordinate.”

Hakuba lets out a scoff. At Kaito’s raised eyebrow, he shakes his head. “I’d just suggest you be on guard, Kudo’s reign may fall one day, and he’s clearly capable of trading your name for a better prison sentence.”

No, Kaito doesn’t imagine Kudo would do something like that. His dog would, maybe, but not Kudo Shinichi.

“I doubt it,” Kaito says. “I’d be more suspicious of you turning me in than him.”

For a second, Hakuba’s expression twists into something even Kaito, with his expertise at reading people, can’t read. Then, it settles on irritation. He says, “Kudo would have a lot of incentive – he’s overseen things, yes, but you’ve actually committed the crimes.”

“Right.”

“And don’t forget,” Hakuba says now, expression darkening, voice bordering on a whisper, “that I didn’t turn you in when you killed your first victim. Turning you in now would mean turning myself in for obstruction of justice.”

“What a situation I’ve put you in Hakuba,” Kaito says. There is no apology there, no sympathy for what he might have stolen from the boy who’d once wished to be a detective.

“Not at all,” a smile, something that would have sent shivers down Kaito’s spine if he hadn’t seen the expression before, “I’m exactly where I want to be, _Kaito_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author really enjoys comments.


End file.
